


Here Comes the Sun

by ExpressAndAdmirable



Series: The Heroes of Light [49]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Final Fantasy I
Genre: Backstory, Baking, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Slice of Life, Tiefling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpressAndAdmirable/pseuds/ExpressAndAdmirable
Summary: Aviva and her mother practice a little kitchen witchery.





	Here Comes the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Response to the prompt "write about Lux baking with someone she cares about!" from a nice anon on tumblr. Morgan's player challenged me to write a completely happy Lux backstory piece, not even bittersweet. "Giggles both desired and required." So here's what we've got. I hesitate to use the word "fluff" as I find it a bit reductive, but "slice of life" will do.

“Mama?”

Lifting her gaze from the leather on her work table, Esperance pushed a stray lock of hair from her face with the back of one dye-stained hand. “What is it, baby?”

“I want to bake a pie.” As if for emphasis, the little girl presented a pair of apples, one in each hand.

Esperance smiled. “You’re going to need more than two apples, I think.”

With a huff and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Aviva lowered her arms. “I _know_ that, mama. I can only _carry_ two.”

Laughter bubbled behind Esperance’s lips, but she managed to keep it down. Aviva’s bemusement at her mother’s tenuous grasp of the obvious never failed to amuse her. “Of course. Silly me. Why do you want to bake a pie?”

At that, Aviva’s face lit up, her momentary frustration at the denseness of grownups utterly forgotten. “It’s Old Man’s birthday tomorrow! He should have a birthday pie. You baked a pie for me on my birthday, so I want to bake one for him.”

“Oh! Well!” She was not sure when Aviva had started calling her mentor Old Man, but it seemed to delight him, so she had never pressed the issue. “That sounds lovely, V. What kind of pie do you want to make?”

Aviva pondered the apples in her hands, tilting her head contemplatively. “We have apples, but he likes peaches. Can we get some peaches and put both in the pie?”

Setting down the dye-covered rag, Esperance reached for the slightly cleaner rag tucked into her worn leather apron. “Do we have any peaches upstairs?”

“No.”

“Ahh.” She looked at the leather on the table, then apologetically at her daughter. “I have to finish this armour before day’s end. I can’t take you to market.”

“I can go by myself!” Aviva stood as tall as she could. She was big for her age and she knew it, though it had not served to make her look any older.

“Oh?” Esperance’s brow rose. “Is that so?”

Aviva nodded. “I take myself to school, and to Old Man’s, and I always come home without getting lost. I can get the peaches!”

Esperance thought for a moment, doing some quick mental calculations. It was only recently they had been able to afford such luxuries as fruit. “Alright. I don’t see why not.” Fishing in the pocket of her apron, she produced a handful of copper pieces. “This should be enough for three peaches. No extra treats, and come straight home. No stopping to pet any cats. I’ll be waiting for you!”

Aviva’s nose wrinkled. “ _No_ cats?”

“One cat. Only one.”

“Okay!” Turning on her heel, Aviva started to dart out the door, then stopped mid-step, looking at the apples in her hands. After a brief consideration, she placed them carefully on the corner of the work table before resuming her energetic exit.

Esperance shook her head, smiling to herself as the front door of the shop opened and closed. Aviva would likely stop to pet every cat she saw; despite the fact that most of them were feral at best, they seemed drawn to the girl’s gentle nature. Esperance pretended to make a fuss when her daughter dawdled, but in truth, she did not mind. The feline attention made Aviva happy, and for that she would endure the extra waiting. Her little girl always came home.

* * *

“Three peaches, mama!”

Had she returned already? Esperance set down her pliers and glanced toward the back door of the workshop. The light through the window was deep orange; apparently the afternoon had passed without her noticing. Making a mental note to take the workshop’s clock to the Gnomes for repair, she turned to see Aviva proudly placing the peaches on the table, lining them up next to the apples she had forgotten to move. The girl had neglected to take a bag, so she had evidently decided it best to carry one peach in each hand and the third tucked under one arm. She seemed not to notice the bruises the delicate fruit had sustained on its journey.

Esperance nodded. “Well done, baby. And how many cats did you see?”

“Five!” Aviva replied without a hint of remorse. Not for the first time, she had called her mother’s bluff. “One was a big mama cat about to have kittens! If I find her again, can we keep one?”

“If you find her again, we can talk about it.” Banking on Aviva ever forgetting a cat was a risky business, but the Cornerian cats were awfully good at not being found if they did not want to be. “Go upstairs and wash up. I’ll be right behind you. And I’ll bring the fruit,” she added, noticing Aviva’s internal debate over how to carry five round objects.

With a definitive nod, Aviva bounded out the workshop door and scampered up the stairs. Esperance untied her apron and hung it on a peg, then returned her various tools to their homes. Her client would complete payment for the armour in the morning. Gathering the apples and peaches into a fold of her skirt, she ascended the steps to their flat.

“Okay mama! What do we need?” Aviva’s hands were still wet from the water pump, and they dripped into Esperance’s skirt as she retrieved two peaches from the fabric. “How many apples? If we have three peaches, do we use three apples? We need flour and milk and all the spices that smell nice. Can we make the top of the pie pretty? Can we make flowers and leaves out of the dough?” Her eyes narrowed as something occurred to her, but she brightened just as quickly. “He won’t see them, but maybe he’ll taste the shapes!”

Stepping back from her daughter’s verbal whirlwind, Esperance laughed. “Yes, baby, we can make the top of the pie pretty, but we have to make the dough first. Can you get the milk out of the icebox?” Aviva nodded and marched toward the corner of the kitchen, her expression that of one who had been tasked with the most important of missions. As she struggled with the chest’s heavy lid, Esperance gathered the rest of the ingredients and arranged them on the table: flour, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, one lemon and an additional apple. She kept the salt separate; small hands were not particularly adept at measurements such as _a pinch_.

As she peeled and sliced the fruit, Esperance instructed her daughter through each step of preparing the crust. Aviva measured and mixed with the same focused intensity she displayed when practicing her violin, her forehead set in a deep frown and her tongue poking from the side of her mouth. While most children her age would have bored of the rolling quickly, she worked almost meditatively, her stream of conversation ceasing until the task was completed. “Now we make the pretty top?”

“Now we make the pretty top.” Scooping the chopped fruit into the bottom crust in its round dish, Esperance nodded toward the dough designated for the top crust. “What shapes do you want to make?”

Aviva hummed as she thought. “Well, you have to start with the criss-crosses… Then… flowers? Or leaves?” Then she gasped. “Music notes! And a clef! We could make it like music!” Darting away into her room, she returned with the first piece of sheet music she could find. “Like this!”

Esperance grinned. “Perfect.”

Setting the paper on the table, Aviva pointed to each note as Esperance traced it into the dough with the point of her knife, explaining its length and pitch and position on the staff of the particular piece she had selected. Whole, half, quarter, eighth (single and beamed), sixteenth (single and double-beamed), and the difference between bass and treble clef for good measure. Aviva was always at her most animated when talking about music, and her mother never tired of listening to her.

When all the shapes were cut and set aside, they rolled the scraps of dough into a new sheet and cut the strips for the lattice. Esperance placed the first few strips onto the pie and coached Aviva through weaving the rest. The result was lumpy and not terribly even, but it didn't matter: Aviva loved it. She pointed to each spot where a musical note should go, and Esperance followed her directions exactly.

“Done!” Aviva declared, clapping the excess flour from her little hands. “Now we bake it?”

“In a bit, baby. I have to build the fire to warm the oven, and I have to make dinner. It can sit for awhile.” Esperance kissed her daughter’s forehead, then turned her toward her room and patted her rear. “Go practice for awhile, I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Once Aviva departed, Esperance measured a new cup of flour into her bowl. She had an idea.

* * *

Dinner that evening was simple, a hearty lamb stew served with thick slices of bread and mugs of apple cider sprinkled with cinnamon. The tantalising aroma of baking pie filled the flat as they ate, and the little girl bemoaned the fact that they had not made an additional pie for themselves. With a smile, Esperance assured her that was why she had put spices in the drinks. Aviva was not convinced cider was “just the same” as eating pie, but she accepted the explanation without further complaint.

“It’s done!” Aviva blurted mid-sentence.

Startled, Esperance looked at the hourglass next to her mug just as the last grains of sand settled in the bottom globe. “So it is. Would you like to get it out of the oven?”

“Yes!” Sliding off her chair, Aviva pulled the thick quilted mitts from the counter and reached for the handle on the oven’s metal door. Esperance sipped her cider and waited.

“Mama… Mama, there are two in here! You made another one for us!!” A moment later, Aviva’s arms wrapped jubilantly around her mother, knocking the wind out of her and nearly sending the cider flying from her hands. The girl hummed as she squeezed as tightly as she could, breaking into a giggle as she released the older woman. “Thank you mama!”

“You’re welcome, baby.” Setting her mug on the table, Esperance ruffled her daughter’s hair. “This was a very nice idea you had. You can take Mourat his pie tomorrow, and we can have ours now. You have to go get it, though!”

Aviva squeaked at the reminder and ran back to the oven, carefully retrieving each pie and setting them on the counter. Peeking at the top of the second pie, she squealed with glee. “It has a heart on it!”

Esperance beamed. A long stem extended upward from the heart, its flag-like tail turning it into a large musical note. “A big heart, for my big-hearted girl. Now let’s eat, before it gets cold!”

**Author's Note:**

> Title song by the Beatles.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at @expressandadmirable for a proper table of contents for the Heroes campaign, commissioned character art, text-based roleplay snippets and more!


End file.
